The lands they trekked in dreams
by Angelada
Summary: What if the there were consequences to wielding such ancient magic? The Mark- it never burnt out, never dimmed. Why would she? "She watched everything she knew and loved rendered unrecognizable by the passing of time, watched it lost, turned out of her reach. It was a lonely thing, to be lost to the ages."
1. Chapter 1

_This was an experiment of sorts and it ended up being far more poetic that I'm used to, so feel free to tell me what you think!_

* * *

She still dreamt of him.

Even after all the years passed, she still remembered his face, surrounded by the black and gold of the Inquisition's banners, by the beautiful snow of Haven, by the greens of the forests they trekked. It was painful in many ways, but not without beauty. Never, never without beauty.

He had disappeared after the defeat of Corypheus, without a warning, without a trace. One minute he was there, hers, her hahren, her vhenan'ara, Solas- the next he was gone, gone before the dust could settle after the fall of a would-be god. Gone, while the memory of him still lingered so painfully. He had distanced himself from her in Crestwood before, and she had thought that so abrupt. He left her with only her bare face and trembling heart after pulling away, her vallaslin gone with him, his words echoes of a sorrow she could not understand.

She had been so naïve then- so young and stubborn. She had deluded herself into thinking it was not without hope to hold on to him, had pushed on with grim determination, sure in her belief that he would chose to stay with her, once the threat to the world had passed, once their purpose was achieved. A new world, forged through their blood and sacrifices and will to live; and they would endure, they would make it through, so help her the Creators; and they would have all the means to start afresh, they would rebuild. He would want to start a new life, with her. To think she was so prideful to assume she knew anything of his heart.

He had always been so careful in his manner and tone; he had made it so clear, under the dark of the sky, over the noise of the waterfall, and then again, in the ruins, the shattered orb in his hands… oh, how her skin tingled when she remembered, how her sadness shattered her again, born anew.

Had she listened, she would have recognised the absoluteness of the farewell he had given. He had made up his mind months before that last fight to close the Breach. She had lost him, utterly, before the end of Corypheus. Had been too blind to see it.

She had been so foolish. His goodbyes had been offered, and she had taken it as a cruel jest - a test, even, a challenge- had not heard the finality there. She had underestimated the significance of that one quiet moment, of his words, of the gravity in his eyes.

She had denied it, refused it- fought against everything that so plainly warned her of the inevitable end.

So starved for his love was she that it was only when he was physically gone that she awoke from her delusion, and not even then could she truly let him go.

There were so many years, so many resources, so much energy spent in finding him before she could accept that Solas did not want to be found, that the precious memories she'd gathered were all that would remain. Something died inside her that day, something fragile. She cradled it close to her chest and pieced together what she could. She moved on. She endured.

She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, no matter what she knew to be true. She was the Inquisition, and the Inquisition was strong and proud, for it was the force that steered the chaos and set new order to the world.

The Inquisition had no time for scarred elven women or broken hearts, and neither did Inquisitor Lavellan.

Often – much later- she wondered if maybe it had been better that way.

Even if she had found him, would it have mattered?

It would have mattered then, but she knew better with time- she knew later that she was destined to lose him anyway. Just like she had been destined to lose everyone else.

The Mark- it never burnt out, never dimmed, and neither could she. She wondered, at times, what he would have thought of it, how he would have reacted to know more than half a century later she was still alive, still unchanged, still bound to a destiny she had never asked for.

She walked the Fade alone, seeking out and holding on to old memories. It was a lonely thing, after all, to be lost to the ages, and while she would have loved nothing more than to have her heart with her, she-

 _If she had found him, would it have mattered?_

He would have been gone in a blink of an eye anyway, just like the rest.

Humans, Qunari, elves and dwarfs alike, some gone before forty years had passed- it had terrified her, made her ache feel hotter, made her cry out for him in her sleep.

She could stay nowhere, she belonged nowhere, she knew it. The Inquisition took a life of its own only in a couple of decades. Her problem was made obvious after only ten short years by the white in Cassandra's hair and the lines around her companions' eyes- by her figure made out of marble, unchanged and unblemished. They had tried to help her, to unravel the secret of the Mark for many years. She felt his absence even more acutely, then, and wondered…

What would have Solas made of it? Would he have been surprised to know the results of her bond to the strange magical anomaly? Would he have known what to do, as he often did?

Vivienne used all of her connections and consulted with all the mages in possession of great magical knowledge, Dorian spent years away from his goal back home for her.

When he at last could spare no more time, she let him go with a smile, with no struggle. The Iron Bull went with him. Cassandra and Josephine remained until the end, lived a good, long life full of achievements worthy of legends. Leliana was elected Divine soon after the Corypheus incident. Cullen retired after many years of service, having built the Inquisition into a force to be reckoned with. Some scattered, some returned, all eventually left, in some form or another.

She watched everything she knew and loved rendered unrecognizable by the passing of time, watched it lost, turned out of her reach. She took consolation in the lives of her friends for as long as they lasted, took comfort in their legacies after they ended.

After the news of Varric's death came the official announcement of Divine Victoria's passing, presented to her by Josephine's daughter herself, her blue eyes dark with grief and sympathy.

She left soon after- it was only fitting that they should announce her death eventually, and it would not be hard. She was already a ghost, had been hidden from the world for so long under long, flowing gowns, her face carefully covered, her voice so very tired and old.

She refused to allow the world believed her some sort of impossible creature, immortal, otherworldly- the woman underneath the icon had already been killed by the presumption of holiness, but there were still ways to save her memory. She would rather be remembered as someone who had achieved extraordinary things with the other great men and women of the Inquisition, not as a holy prophet, not as a divine agent, and certainly not as a goddess who had defied the laws of nature.

The order and relative peace they managed to create- what the Inquisition managed to do- was too precious and valuable, and made with the sacrifices of so many for so long. She would not risk it or the chaos the news of her condition would produce.

Her advisers, a stronger generation, better than many of the ones before, were unsure of how to react to her decision, but they eventually agreed it was probably time for the Inquisitor to be no more. There was no need for her anymore. The legacy she built was strong, had grown larger than her own self. The people left behind were fine ones, more capable than she was of handling the continuity of her ideals. They embodied them, after all.

It made her smile.

She walked out of the gates of Skyhold, standing tall, breathing deeply, for what felt like the first time in an age, with only the clothes on her back and her old gear at her side.

After being suffocated by so much, it felt good to have nothing again. She remembered the stories Solas used to tell, whispers of a world incredibly vast, waiting to be discovered.

Solas's smile, Solas's voice, the ache in her chest, they followed her wherever she went, though the man himself was no more.

Dead by then, most likely- a thought that still stung worse than a dragon's bite, it left her weak and hollow- she still had that to carry and keep, close to her chest. There was still beauty even in the most painful of things, she'd had to learn.

She took one long look at the sky, at the scar there, her hand stretched towards the sun, and walked away. Empty and cold as her insides were, the sun was warm.

Maybe she would meet remnants of his life in the Fade, sleeping under an ancient tree- maybe she would succeed in seeing him one last time, eventually.

She had time, she had all the time in the world to traverse the ancient ruins he was so fond of, to stumble over some trace of him, and she needed only that.

 _Solas._

There was lightness in her step as she disappeared into the horizon.

….

….

...

He still dreamt of her.

She was always just in the back of his mind, an image so bright and vivid he often wondered how he had once been strong enough to look at her directly, how her touch had not burnt him. How foolish of him to have let himself touch in return, when he knew he could have never stayed.

Her kisses haunted him, the memory of her skin under his fingers potent and intoxicating.

He listened to the whispers of her life, but they never spoke of her, never of the woman he knew, of the marvellous soul he knew laid inside her earthly body. They spoke of her deeds, of her power and growing influence. He heard of the fear and admiration she evoked. He smiled as he listened to the foolish humans praise her as she deserved.

She erected an empire, she, the once awkward young Dalish mage, capable of bringing gods, both imagined and real, to their knees. A flick of her hand and a quirk of her mouth held more power than they could even know. They _should_ praise her, they should fear her, they should kiss the earth she walked on- she was so much more than what they could ever be.

She never took another lover, a fact that pulled raw at the threads of his heart. She did it all by herself, accepted the burden of solitude with a strength he wished he possessed. She was truly a beautiful soul, and in another world… In another world she would still have been too good for him.

The years passed like a dream, like mist.

Eventually, he heard of her death.

He was… not prepared for it, not the pain that ripped open his soul, the bleeding of a heart he thought bled out.

He spent days staring at the sky, caressing the stars with his eyes, though all he could see were old glimpses of her smile, her hair, her eyes.

He wondered what it would have meant to return to her, after the orb was broken, after he realised trying to restore the old ways was a hopeless dream, one he could not accomplish when he was so alone and weakened. He could have returned.

He wondered why he hadn't, though he knew the answer.

He had been afraid, afraid of what it would mean to allow himself a second taste of her light, of her love.

It had been so hard to leave the first time, to do it a second time would have been impossible. To watch her die- it would have killed him.

 _'The Inquisitor is dead, long live the Inquisition!'_

For the first time in years, he wept.

* * *

 _Part II should be ready in a few days, though I can make no promises. Until then, thank you for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_And here is the second (and last) part! :)_

* * *

She blinked apart heavy eyelids, her vision blurred and shaky.

She had fallen asleep under a tall oak, far away from the any road or settlement, close to the earth, somewhere where the Veil was thin and the shade welcoming.

A Dalish caravan had set camp in that very spot every summer once, when the tree was younger, greener. She had searched the Fade and seen the death of their Keeper and the naming of a new one. A young elf by the name of Elgara used to play in the dirt at her feet with her friend, Hanin. She watched them fall in love through fragments of memories lost to the ages.

Lavellan stretched and pulled the world back into focus around her, breaking the connection with the Fade. She had grown used to sleeping in the wild, but her back still protested and her joints still made a sickening sound as she moved to stand. Her slumber had been long, perhaps the longest yet, and she could feel the jabs of hunger all too painfully, her body loudly demanding that she eat.

Yet, her mind was on anything but food, her eyes hunted, her breath short and shallow. Something had stalked her through the Fade. It had been a strange, subtle presence, and she had only felt it watch her late into her slumber. She knew not what it wanted, but she felt its pain and longing, felt it pass through every cell of her body and soul, and it had scared her. She heard it whisper her name when she pulled away, and it sounded precious yet broken on the looming creature's tongue, nothing like any demon or spirit she had ever heard.

She awoke to shadows, and she knew she had slept for a day and a half. Her body was strong, the magic of the Mark made it even more so, and she was not weakened, but she was shaken.

How could it have known?

How could it have known her name, when even she had such a hard time remembering it? No one had spoken it in years, since even before she left the Inquisition.

How did it know?

 _'Some things are never lost, vhenan. There are many stories hidden in the Fade, if only you know how to listen.'_

Was it the Fade? Had she drawn out some ancient beast?

Had it fed on her sorrow, seen into her heart?

It felt nothing like it, though. The beast had not touched her mind- it couldn't have, could it? Would she not have felt it?

She tried to recall.

A dark figure, shrouded, hidden from her senses even in the Fade.

What was it?

It had felt familiar- dirt, elfroot, paint, strong and gentle magic.

The sound of her name buzzed quietly in her mind.

Older, broken, distorted, but she could never mistake his voice.

It had sounded like Solas.

 _He would move the hair out of her face gently, slowly, as if he needed to engrave the moment to memory. He would whisper ancient elven softly in her ear, her name often the only thing she could recognise of his words._

 _'Ellana…'_

Perhaps she had let something into her mind after all.

She wanted to weep, but she made a fire instead.

….

….

….

The next time she entered the Fade, it was waiting and she smiled sadly at the creature. It was a huge shadow that loomed over her again. The Veil rippled around it and she could not make out a defined form, but she could see it more clearly than the last time.

There was something predatory about it, something desperate and hungry, and she dared not flee a second time.

"Hello." She greeted, careful and calm, though her emotions were in turmoil. "Have you waited long?"

It bristled and she saw its eyes for the first time glimpse from behind the shadow. Pale, like the moon, bright, like veilfire- cold and burning both at once. She saw it clearly then.

A wolf- a mighty wolf with deep, ancient eyes.

 _Fen'Harel._

The name came to her in a second, leaving her trembling. A scream froze in the back of her throat and she could not move.

Of all the creatures in the Fade, she never would have thought she would meet the Dread Wolf himself.

Her Keeper's warnings came to mind- _'evil', 'danger', 'deceiver', 'run, da'len'_ \- and along them Solas' voice, telling her of the horrible truth behind the vallaslin.

He had told her once there might be more to Fen'Harel then they knew, and she prayed he was right, as she dreaded her fate otherwise.

The wolf drew closer, something like caution in his demeanour.

"Fen'Harel." She confirmed, her voice stronger than she felt.

Her hands shook, but she kept her eyes on the wolf's eyes.

Blue, silver, green.

She thought again of Solas, and it must have known, it must have seen it, for the shadow shrunk and hardened, and he was before her once again. Solas- the vision perfect in every aspect, from his height to the faint lines around his mouth, though she would have expected no less from a god.

His eyes, though, stayed the same- were the same. The Dread Wolf had Solas' eyes.

She stumbled back, breathing heavily. Scared beyond belief and wishing for the cruel trick to end.

 _"Ma'vhenan …"_

It was his voice again, and never had it hurt worse to hear it.

The wolf moved closer, wearing her love's skin with so much ease. "I am here."

The sorrow on his face looked real- she could recognise Solas there, the light in those eyes genuine and convincing, the same softness in his words he once only saved for her.

Her eyes swelled, tears of anger and misery threatening to spill hot upon her cheeks.

She wished to run.

Solas had been wrong. Fen'Harel was one capable of great malice and she knew he would be the one to break her, should she linger.

"No." She managed to spill from between clenched lips and teeth. "How dare you wear his face?" She asked, but there were tears on her skin and he saw. He saw, but there was no shift in his expression. No glee, no laughter.

Someway, it made it worse. It made it so much worse when he stared at her silently, Solas' face solemn and sad.

She wanted to break it, to break him.

How _dare_ he wear his face?

How dare he mock her so, make a mockery of her pain?

One finger touched her forehead, bare and pale without her vallaslin. The touch felt right, the warmth was familiar, and the callus of his palms the same she remembered.

It hurt enough that she could barely breathe, and she snatched her head violently away.

Her knees and heart were weak. She fell, she wanted to fall, to awake, but Fen'Harel put arms around her and held her close to Solas' chest for one long moment.

She could not move, held in place by both fear and a weakness of the heart she could not contain.

He smelt the same- elfroot, the earth, a hint of lyrium. She held her like she was used to be held, one warm palm cradling the back of her head and another pressed between her shoulder blades.

She allowed herself to sob, once, but swallowed the sounds that wanted to escape next.

He could not be Solas, but he was the same.

 _'A trick- wake up, wake up-'_

He loosened his hold, and she almost broke again. She missed it, she needed it, even if it was a lie, even if the Wolf consumed her.

Fen'Harel looked at her through those ancient eyes- blue and silver and green.

 _The Dread Wolf had Solas's eyes._

Somehow, that felt important.

"I will find you." He promised and pulled away, the shadow growing from his skin.

Foolishly, she wanted it to be true.

…

…

…

She woke panting, her heart beating out of her chest and her throat dry and hurting.

She wondered if she'd screamed in her sleep, and found it likely.

Solas…No, not Solas, she had seen Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf himself.

It could have been a trick, a different kind of demon, a powerful one. The idea that she'd been visited by a god in the Fade sounded absurd, but her instincts told her otherwise. It could have been a demon, but something told her it couldn't have been.

It had asked nothing of her, though it showed her it- _he_ \- knew her heart better than any desire demon she'd ever encountered. Every version of Solas they offered was tainted, incomplete, wrong.

That Solas was different. He had felt…real. That was dangerous, so very dangerous, and she could only think of how she'd cried in the Dread Wolf's embrace. How easily he could have killed her.

And she had craved it. She would have welcomed it, she would have welcomed death in Solas' arms, even if it was a lie.

She let out a choked sob and collapsed against the oak tree, her hands gripping at the ground.

She thought of Elgara and Hanin, of the woods around her, of Solas, of his eyes.

He had the Dread Wolf's eyes.

…

…

…

He watched her for a long while, weary and scarred too many times to allow himself hope.

It could not be her. She had died. She was gone.

There was still a ghost of her within his reach, though, was it really so wrong to want to touch?

Yes, absolutely yes.

He broke after only one week, as he knew he would.

At first he wondered if what he was seeing was a fragment of herself, trapped in the Fade, but the closer he got the clearer it became that was not the case. He stopped where she could not see him and watched her walk the Fade, the way he'd taught her once, a lifetime away.

He wondered if she was a descendant, sharing her skin yet alien and cold. He wouldn't have deemed it impossible for the world to play such a joke at his expense. He did not fight the pull of her presence, the temptation of hope, not completely. He knew her face would draw him closer even if worn by one less deserving of her legacy.

She was breath-taking, identical in every way to the ghost who haunted his dreams except brighter, touched stronger by magic.

Her hair was longer, her expression more guarded. Her eyes were sad and older.

It could not have been her, but it was.

He needed to know, before he could do anything more, he needed to know if it was possible and how.

She slipped from his fingers before he could. The thought that he might not find her again renewed feelings of hopelessness and grief he'd never quite managed to bury. No spirit dared approach him while he stalked the Fade in search of traces of her.

He found her again after days of agony. She was as she'd been before, searching for stories, comfortable in her skin, aware of herself and the energies around her.

For a second he was so overwhelmed by relief, affection and pride he was frozen in place.

Hours he watched, his eyes hungry to see her, until her name left his lips unwillingly, his desire to touch her unbearable. She saw him, then. She looked at him with haunted eyes, and he knew.

It was Ellana.

It was her. Against all possibility, he had found her in the Fade.

She was real and alive and beautiful beyond description.

She retreated on the other side of the Veil and Solas just barely refrained from reaching after her.

…

…

…

He waited for her.

"Fen'Harel."

He retreated into himself when he heard the fear into her voice when she spoke his name.

He should have not let her see his other form, but it was far too late for regrets. He reeled the wolf back in with a practiced effort, but she had seen too much.

"How dare you wear his face?" Her words were quiet, brimming with so much emotion it broke and his heart broke with it.

What had he done to her?

She trembled and fell.

He held her, drunk in her presence. Starving to touch, felt the magic of the Mark- his magic- pulse within her, and it suddenly became so clear. He had been so blind, so selfish and stupid.

How had he not realised what his mark would do to her?

He forced her to stand against the destructive power of time, alone and lost. For how long had she wandered? How much had she endured?

He trembled then, too, pulling away. Her confusion was great, as was her pain, but he promised to return, even if it scared her, even if she knew who and what he was.

He needed to return. He needed to make things right.

And throughout it all, the one thought he could not let go of was that _she was alive_.

…

…

…

The first time she heard his voice she did not turn around.

It was not the first time she heard whispers from the Fade, came to tempt her even in the waking world, and it would certainly not be the last with her nerves shaken and her mind vulnerable.

The second time, he was closer, louder.

The third time she could not ignore it.

"Ellana." His voice was rough, like the tears in her heart.

Solas stood before her, an uncertainty in his posture that she did not recognise.

He was not the same, but neither was she, and somehow that made it harder to dismiss his ghost because of it.

"I am so sorry." Was the first thing he said, and she pulled at the Veil frantically to make sure she had not stepped into the Fade without her notice. The earth under her feet was too solid, she felt her clothes brush against her skin. She was awake.

He was there.

Solas. Fen'Harel. Both.

The eyes were the same, the movements as well. He came closer, like he did in the Fade, cornering her like a frightened halla with predatory ease, though he was sad and tentative. She was not ashamed that she pressed herself against the tree or that her fingers dug into its bark.

"Solas?" She gathered the breath to ask, though it was soft and faltering, as if he would sense the faint hope that grew in her chest despite her efforts and would rip it apart as soon as he did.

"Yes."

He rested one warm hand against her left cheek and gently touched his forehead to hers.

She couldn't breathe, but she tried.

"How?" She asked, though she already knew.

The eyes, the eyes were the same.

He looked away, but he did not disappear into smoke before her, and she risked believe he was real. "You have seen what I am…" He said softly. "I am so sorry, ma'vehnan. It was why I couldn't stay. I am…I was not truthful. I am-"

She breathed out before he could. "Fen'Harel." His eyes darkened with grief, but he did not deny it.

"Please, do not fear me." He pleaded quietly, his breath gusting against her neck.

She looked at him again, carefully. He was there, flesh and bone. He was real.

Again, she searched for signs she had stepped into the Fade, but there were none.

Relief too great to express filled her eyes.

She reached out for him, called out for him in whispers- Solas, Fen'Harel, _vehnan_. The words spilled from her lips without her consent.

It all made so much sense, the final piece of a puzzle she had long since given up on, and even if it was a lie, even if it was the Trickster god toying with her, even if it had been so from the start, it was more than what else she had.

It was hope and promise.

"I am here."

When the Dread Wolf kissed her a piece of herself set itself back in place and her chest burnt hot, and she knew- she knew then without a doubt.

She was home. She was whole.


End file.
